


The Flight of Hermes

by magicalmagic



Category: Ant-Man (2015), Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Luis gets shot during a mission and Scott Panics, Luis: rambling even on his deathbed, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Or Is It?, Slow Burn, Team as Family, Unrequited Love, dont worry it will get better, i came for fluff why is everything an Angst???, is it slow burn when they're kept away from each other bc one's in Super-Jail???, later chapters take place directly after civil war, takes place after the ant man movie and right before civil war, toxic relationship (not luis/scott)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-11-07 23:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11069706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalmagic/pseuds/magicalmagic
Summary: He thinks on the messages he has left to save, the secrets and tips and advice that he’s waited till the right moment to give, collecting them like precious jewels. There’s so many- too much, too long of a list and it all gets jumbled in his head among the biting pain and the swirl of names. He wants to puke. He wants his mouth to open and let the right words pour out, easy sentences and trails of thought connecting from person to person to person to-Luis dies with his last message and a broken dream on his lips.But then he lives, and there’s an After.





	1. shot through the heart, and you're to blame

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime after the events of Ant Man, so Scott Lang and Co are going on missions and fighting Ant Man villains

"There was only supposed to be one guard," Luis wheezes out. Scott presses down _hard_ on his chest and he lets out a scream, thrashing and trying to squirm his way out of Scott’s grasp. Fucking white boy won’t let him die peacefully, _qué chingados!!_ He takes a shaky breath to curse Lang out but all that comes out is another yell as sharp pain arcs through him, again and again and the world darkens- 

He blinks and he’s in a different place, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, feeling hazy and weightless. They’re in some sort of computer room, small and claustrophobic with dim lighting and dusty floors. Supervillain lair needs a cleanup crew, man. Or maybe a makeover. At least embrace structural expressionism, because woah this is the future, amigo! Come on, HP window computers that still look like boxy tv sets are way out of style. He can hear Scott yelling in the background but it’s almost like he was underwater, and Dave better not have slipped him one of his special brownies. 

“‘M more of a wine guy," he mumbles, and why does it hurt to talk? Memories start flashing by, like his brain is trying to help him out, thanks bro. Oh, right. Bullet wound in his chest. Bullet wound in his thigh. Too busy celebrating getting the drop on the first big guy to see someone else lurking in the shadows until it was too late. Bang, bang, man down. He did manage to take out that cabron with a taser before he could hit the alarms, though, even if that part felt more like a blur, a fever dream until Scott was beating down the door and all he could think of was ‘this isn’t good.’ 

Because he may have sick ass thieving skills and he may be working for the side of Good now- the Good Good, not the slightly shady ‘break into a pharmacy because Carlos’s sister’s daughter can’t afford the meds she needs’ good- but like, Save the World Good, right? It still felt kinda weird- Good weird. But anyways, he ain’t good enough to be the main hero (was it because he wasn’t enough, because he’s- because he- ?) so he’s the sidekick, but that’s fine because he still gets to kick some major ass and back up his best bro. But also not fine cause sidekicks are expendable, not like the hero’s main super crazy fine chica. Heroes get to cry a single, super manly tear over their sidekick’s death before epically running back into the fray with righteous vengeance fueling them. He’s seen all the movies, dawg. That’s just how it works, and maybe he should have realized their fate would eventually be passed to him.

“Scotty,” Luis breathes out, not sure of where his train of thought is going but there’s something important he needs to say, something- something- “Scotty, hey, Scotty-“ His words are choked off with a sharp cry, and all he knows is pain for a good few seconds before he can see again. Scott’s response is swallowed up by the pounding of his heart in his ears, syncing to the pounding in his chest and leg. Those stoic heroes who grit their teeth and keep moving after bullet wounds, easy as anything, must have either super crazy healing powers or maybe it’s only a movie thing. He’d appreciate a better warning from the media next time but _damn_ if it isn’t impossible to put on a brave face while his body is screaming and so is he. He wonders how much time he has left. He wonders, he wonders, he wonders-

He’s a great messenger. Knows all of the news, the what’s going on, who to talk to and who’s fucking over who and good heist tips and where the PoPo make the least raids. He’s got _connections,_ man, and damn if he knew how to use them. Once a man nicknamed him ‘Hermes,’ patted his cheek condescendingly when Luis cocked his head, confused. Back when he was young, barely smart enough to learn his lesson about keeping his mouth _shut_ around those with more power than him and only let loose with friends. 

“Hermes,” the guero says, “Messenger of the gods.” _Raised strictly Catholic,_ Luis thinks as he smiles nervously back at the man, _Mama woulda whipped me if she caught me reading some pagan gods’ stories._ But that didn’t stop him from looking up the painting by Hendrik Goltzius that night, if only because maybe he might be able to use it as a cool call name. Snickers at the dumb helmet and decides it’s not for him. He was too soft- cuddly, he liked to claim- and besides, no way a man with his skin could be a greek god. He was too (inferior small weak dumb?) _good_ for that. He has class, baby, don’t you forget it.

But now, thinking on it, maybe he ended up as Hermes anyways. Luis, Hermes, it blended together didn’t it? Flitting from person to person, collecting gossip and information and passing it on, easy as 1-2-3 with a memory that’s only good for word of mouth, not staring blankly down at equations when he opened Scott’s old textbook, because what could it hurt? (A lot of things, it turns out. Mostly himself.) 

The world comes back into focus and fuck, he’s gonna die. The pain hurts too much and all he wants to do is slip away like a coward because he ain't no fucking super hero, regardless of how perfect his waffles are. The room- the room is too quiet. Only his desperate panting accompanied by the whirring of old computers and Scotty shuffling through something fills the space around him. It’s never this quiet when it’s just him and Scott, except for those awkward yet understanding silences when they’re in deep bro conversations because _feelings._

Maybe he should be talking. Maybe he should- maybe he should- Scott tightens something around his upper thigh and his brain shortens out and he howls, arching up off the ground and cursing that pendejo out to the ends of the earth. 

“Para,” he bites out desperately as his entire body shakes and he tries to slap Scott’s hands away, “Espera espera espera-“ he chants, even as Scott doesn’t fucking _listen_ and continues to prod at the wounds because he is an _asshole._ More ice-fire flares of pain (‘stay away from the stove, Luis,’ his mama warned, why didn’t he listen?) and he barely recognizes that his voice is getting hoarse from all the screaming and fuck he shouldn’t be awake for this. Should he be? _Hell_ no. Wait- yes. He grasps desperately at fraying thoughts. If this where he dies, then yes. Because there’s something he needs to do- there’s something- a message, he needs to tell someone a message- 

Scott is blabbering about something above him- usually Luis loves it when Scott rambles, even though he usually doesn’t understand half of it, but now’s really not the time, Guerito. He raises a shaky finger to shush him but Scott just grabs his hand and starts talking faster, louder. Damn it, is the man going to deprive him of an epic and motivational death speech too? Wait, that’s not what he wants. Luis Garcia doesn’t play by those _rules,_ cabron. Luis goes out in style. (He’s selfish. He wants- He wants-) 

“I- Scotty-“ He groans, clenching his teeth around another spasm of pain. The pain's supposed to stop soon, right? Why isn’t the- fuck, it hurts so bad. Scott is shushing _him_ now, all noble ‘save your strengths’ and ‘it’ll be alright.’ Usually he’d be like, yeah bro yeah, and he’d trust Scotty that they'd make it out of there, like that time he broke his ankle during a heist and Scotty slung him over his shoulder, easy as a sack of potatoes. But now his time is running out, and he really needs to... His thoughts stutter as someone shakes him. Scott, _stop talking!_ (usually it was the other way around, right?)

“Shut your fu- _mierda,_ it- Scotty-“ A message. He needs- a message, he’s always been the best messenger. The last message he’ll ever give. He can trust Scott with it, he thinks hazily as he stares up into frantic green eyes. Scott will- keep the message safe, deliver it. Can’t be Hermes himself now. 

He thinks on the messages he has left to save, the secrets and tips and advice that he’s waited till the right moment to give, collecting them like precious jewels. There’s so _many-_ too much, too long of a list and it all gets jumbled in his head among the biting pain and the swirl of names. He wants to puke. He wants his mouth to open and let the right words pour out, easy sentences and trails of thought connecting from person to person to person to- 

Something warm is trickling down his sides and pooling behind the middle of his back, copper is building up behind his tongue and his vision is blurring. The pain is now a dull roar in the background, even as he distantly feels Scott press against his chest harder and harder. ‘My ribs,’ he wants to protest, demand him to lay off, but he knows he needs to save his words. Besides, it won’t matter in a few minutes- he’s sure of that as of anything, and even though he’s more scared than he’s ever been in his life, he also can’t help but want the pain to end. 

It’s coming. He’s staring up at Scott’s stupid pretty face in that badass superhero suit and wonders why the hell isn’t he Scott’s main chica instead of the sidekick. At least that way he wouldn’t be dying on the floor in some dusty, ugly ass building. Instead he could be kissing Scotty goodbye before missions, cooking him waffles before he heads out (Hope doesn’t do that, though, as awesome as she is- but that _burn burn burn_ of jealousy when the door opens and Scott has her pushed up against the wall? Yeah, he’d say it hurt more than the bullet wounds but he’s not gonna lie, bullet wounds make him feel like he’s _physically_ dying instead of heart brokenly, and it turns out physically is a lot worse).

 _Fuck it,_ he thinks, _fuck it._ His world is on fire and maybe he’s okay with going out in a blaze of- something stupid. Something he can’t ever undo, but he’s gonna die and dammit if he isn’t good at being selfish. And maybe, just maybe, he was hopeful enough to think that he’ll actually get away with it, stealing something from the master thief while he’s on his deathbed. Fair’s fair, after all, since Scott stole something from him months ( _years?_ ) ago. 

He yanks Scott down and gives him one last message. Not truths stretching from Maria-to-Naiara’s cousin-to-Marcus-to-Marcus’s friend-to-Emanuel-to-Luis but closer, direct. Simple. Just Luis-to-Scott, a message he’s always been too afraid to send before. Scott’s warm mouth slides _hard_ across his, teeth clashing before Scott relaxes into it and then it’s _heat_ and desperation and it’s so _good,_ better than he’s ever imagined-

Mama’s always said _‘Be careful with your heart, mijo. You fall too hard and too fast and one of these days you’ll get hurt.’_ Oh, mama. He always thought getting hurt meant eating rocky road on the couch while fending off concerned texts from his bros. Not bleeding out on a cold tile floor with a dumb white boy hovering above him- one he loves, mama, because they _fit_ and he’s _Scotty_ and- and- and-

He releases Scott not because he wants to, but because he’s tired, more tired than he’s ever been before. Everything is fading fast, and now that he’s passed along his last message it’s as if a great weight has been lifted off his chest (probably literally, too, since Scott wasn’t pressing down on him anymore). 

“You do _not_ get to die on me now, asshole, not after the shit you just pulled, you over dramatic sap of a man-“ 

He closes his eyes. Scott’s angry ranting is an alright symphony to die listening to, though he would have preferred the Mozart playlist on his phone. Time slows and he wonders how many seconds before he’s gone. The last grains of sand in the hourglass fall through his fingers.

He lets the darkness take him. He reaches for the light. 

.  
.  
.

He wakes up in a fancy ass hospital room, wounds barely twinging with Dave and Kurt playing cards at the foot of his bed. There’s a tv buzzing in the background and an empty chair next to the monitor.

Scott is… not here.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SLAMS DOOR OPEN*  
> WHAT UP ANT MAN FANDOM ARE YOU STILL ALIVE??? IM TWO YEARS LATE BUT IM READY TO PARTY! 
> 
> (help I am in rare pair hell) 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Double thanks goes to those who kudos and/or comment! <33 I'd really appreciate feedback on this, since I'm not completely confident on my Luis voice yet. I'm working on the second chapter now! :D
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing avuck, thanks bro~
> 
> edit on 8/9: THIS FIC NOW HAS FANART OF _THE_ SCENE!! CHECK IT OUT!!!  
>  https://scuis.tumblr.com/post/163973446913/commissioned-art-by-ninthgoddess-of-a-scene-from


	2. he’s the tear in my heart, i’m alive

_He wakes up in a fancy ass hospital room, wounds barely twinging with Dave and Kurt playing cards at the foot of his bed. There’s a tv buzzing in the background and an empty chair next to the monitor._

_Scott is… not here._

_Shit._

 

That was a rare moment of clarity in the overall fuzziness of his hospital stay. He remembers mostly sleeping, and times awake were spent reacting… poorly to the painkillers they were pumping into him. 

One memory is embarrassingly clear- grasping tightly onto Dave’s hand and rambling frantically, almost too fast to understand and tripping over his words- ‘I’m gonna die, bro, I know I am but there’s still so much to do and so much I need to say and please don’t let me go to sleep bro I know I’ll never wake up please bro- bro-’ and Dave holding his hand tightly and his deep, steady voice reassuring him that ‘Luis, you’re okay, you’re in a hospital and you’re safe, come on man you’re scaring me-’ which only made him freak out _more_ because Dave doesn’t _do_ comforting, especially hand holding so that definitely meant he was on death’s door. 

Other times he wakes up confused and dazed, repeating “Where’s Scotty? Where is he?” over and over as Kurt and Dave trade concerned looks over his head. They give a general excuse each time- _he’s talking to the doctors, he went to go get something to eat, Pym needed him for something-_ but Luis knows they’re lying because Scotty would never leave his side when he’s hurt because they are best bros for _life_ (he stubbornly ignores the fact that he may have destroyed that when he manages to remember what happened after getting shot). 

Another time he’s crying, either from the gradual weaning off the painkillers and he thinks he’s lying on cold tile floor bleeding out again or because his emotions are spiraling everywhere- he almost died, man, that’s pretty fucked up. And his small crew don’t say anything about his moments of weakness so that’s good; he feels too full of shards to handle pity or awkward hugs. 

(Scott would have said something- he would have made everything better with a wry comment or a hug that feels like home and he would’ve pieced all off the broken glass back together with superglue and say ‘You know, Luis, it’s okay to be sad sometimes. I can be happy for you if you need me to be’ and that would’ve been enough, but he f u c k e d it all up, didn’t he?). 

* * *

He wakes up staring at an unfamiliar grey ceiling, feeling rather like the morning after Scott’s birthday party last year, aching everywhere and a head full of wool. At least he isn’t vomiting- a silver lining in any shitty hangover, so it could be worse. There’s something... it felt like he broke his nose and had tissues stuffed inside to catch the blood. He lifts his arm to prod at it, curious, but an icy hand clamps around his wrist. 

He yelps and turns his head, wincing at the unexpected dizziness. Dave is sitting in a chair next to him, his shoulders slumped with dark circles under his eyes. 

“You know where you are, Luis?” Dave looks- tired, weary, _something._ It’s unnatural on Dave’s face, and Luis would have reached out and smoothed it away if he thought it would work. Instead, he gives him a hesitant smile and nods.

Dave rolls his eyes and lets go of his wrist. “Stop bullshitting me, man.”

“Hey,” Luis’ grin stretches and his face aches. He pokes Dave’s shoulder. “I know I'm at a hospital at least.” He lets the smile drop off his face and (doesn’t think about flatlines and shrill beeps and _no vajas mamá!_ ) concentrates, trying to remember the last thing that happened. It felt rather like trying to feel his way through thick fog. 

At least, until it wasn’t, and his memories clicks into place- a sudden _snap_ that took him by surprise, the suddenness of stumbling over the last stair step in the dark. Hitting the ground, Scotty hovering above him, foggy blurs of color and movement and warm pressure against his lips, _everything._ His hands reach automatically for his chest and he sucks in a shaky breath of air, confusion and fear racing through him. 

“I was- I was-” He tears his eyes away from his body and stares at Dave for confirmation because it seems almost impossible that he made it out, that he isn’t lying on the floor staring up at Scott as his vision goes dark. Dave rubs a hand over his face and sighs. 

“Shot. You were shot, dude. Twice. Scared the shit outta us- especially Scott, I’ve never heard him sound so scared before, and I was right there when the stuff with Crossfire went down.” 

“Dios mío,” Luis groans, covering his face with his hands.

“It would have made Prokofiev proud,” Kurt chimes in and Luis starts, jolting upwards and hissing at the sudden stretch of his leg. He didn’t even notice Kurt lurking in the corner, his laptop balanced on his thighs and headphones wrapped around his neck. Both of them look disheveled and tired, Kurt’s hair greasy and unkempt instead of the careful style he spends twenty minutes every morning on. He ignores the vaguely familiar name drop and turns back to Dave.

“How long was I out?” He asks, and pointedly doesn’t mention Scott and his obvious absence. He wonders how long he can stretch it out- how long before he has to face the fact that he’s obviously drove away his best friend (because he is _s e l f i s h_ and now all those ugly truths are out there forever, forever, forever… He isn’t one to lie to cover his tracks- especially to Scott- but he wonders if _just this once_ he can make an exception, spin lies as easily as he spins stories so they can go back to their easy friendship). 

“Three days,” Dave says, his voice serious. “And there’s a lot you’ve missed, man. You’ve got some catching up to do- Scott had to leave after the first couple hours. You barely got out of critical condition, but…” Dave trails off, his eyes flickering over to Kurt before focusing back on him. Luis feels something dark panging in his chest and ignores it, choosing instead to weakly smile at them. 

“I guess that means Scott’s still after Taskmaster, huh?” He keeps his voice deliberately casual. That would make sense. He had a world to save, it would- it would be selfish to want him to stay, right? He isn’t- it’s fine. His fingernails dig into his palms and he looks down at the IV taped to his arm.

What comes next is a shock large enough that he forgets, forgets about the kiss and half confessions and loneliness and _Scotty’s not here_ because-

“Worse,” Kurt says grimly, “He joined a war.” 

* * *

The story spills out of them- not as great or smooth as it would be if _he_ was the one telling it, of course- but it turns out that instead of a routine ‘stop an assassin at an important leader meeting,’ it quickly escalated into an all out battle between Captain America and Iron Man. 

_“Scotty finally went supergiant??!” Luis exclaims, grinning widely at the grainy footage of Scott throwing a plane wing at tiny flying blurs. Dave points at him and grins back, almost bouncing out of his seat._

_“You know it, man! That was some crazy shit, let me tell you.” They high five and chatter excitedly about how the tech finally worked in the field while watching the video. Luis raises a fist in the air and whoops when Scott kicks a bus._

_“Probably how he got captured,” Kurt points out, not looking up from his computer, “Passed out from strain. Like in lab.”_

_“Wait- captured?!”_

So Captain America somehow _didn’t win,_ and now Scott’s a criminal _again,_ and worst of all he’s locked up in some Guantanamo Bay probably getting waterboarded as they speak. Dave and Kurt haven’t heard from Scott since he left the hospital, and neither has Maggie or Hope. 

All they have is a few minutes of shaky cam footage that someone managed to capture parts of the airport fight on- and really, out all places to throw down?- and various news reports about how a group of heroes ‘went rogue’ and broke the accords. Dave shows him the news clips that focus on Scott- they use Scott’s mugshot in them, where he’s scowling at the camera and squinting unattractively. Fox News in particular is outraged over Captain America having an ex con on his team, glossing over the actual crime and the fact that _Black Widow_ is on Iron Man’s side. There aren’t many clips with Scott in it, since he’s barely started getting a name for himself, but this has definitely dragged him further into the spotlight. 

They continue talking about the news but soon he goes quiet, trying to process everything. Dave and Kurt don’t seem to mind, starting a debate about the super prison’s outside security with a familiar back-and-forth that makes Luis almost positive they’ve already gone through it before he woke up.

Luis can only focus on Scotty being in jail again- Cassie will be crushed for sure, even if Scott tells her it was for a noble cause (definitely not ‘I was so star struck by Steve Roger’s eyes and insanely buff pecs that I just kind of nodded and followed him into battle,’ because they _all_ knew about Scott’s man crush on Captain America, with his constant mooning over the hero’s instagram pics). At least his cellie is gonna be a superhero this time around, though. Then he realizes that with Scott’s shit luck it’ll probably be Falcon, and he almost lets out a laugh.

Luis takes Dave’s phone and watches the first few minutes of the ‘Sokovia Accords: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver’ segment that already has over a million views despite only being posted a few hours ago. All he gets from it is that not signing meant Scott was thrown into Super Guantanamo Bay, but even if he did sign it he probably would have ended up in there anyways, because if there’s something Team Ant ain’t good at doing, it’s following the rules. Especially absurd ones, like forcing Scotty to wear a tracking bracelet all the time.

He tunes back into the conversation when Maggie’s mentioned, wincing at the thought of the argument that Scott’s sure to have with her when he gets out. Paxton’s definitely gonna be pissed, if only because he always disagrees with Scott just on principle. 

“Maggie’s worried that Stark’s watching her house,” Dave whispers, and they all reflexively look at the door to the hall, as if Iron Man is seconds away from bursting through the wall. 

The words hang in the air and a tense energy fills the room. _Damn_ is Luis glad he decided not to upgrade to a Starkphone the last time he had extra money from a job, paying for the van to get a new paint job instead. It turns out that Miguel’s younger sister is a totally legit painter, and she added really cool decals for free. Besides, “going Stark” would be a stupid move for him anyways- everyone knows that Stark can read your texts and look through your camera on them. For a guy who immediately took selfies with the smoothie machines he stole, buying a superhero brand phone would get him thrown in jail again for sure.

They don’t sit in silence for long before a doctor comes in. And- Luis almost forgot with all the drama around Scott- he’s been shot twice. Almost died on a dusty floor in some crazy supervillain of the week’s lair. The thought sends a cold shudder down his spine and he shifts in the bed. The bandages taped to his chest and thigh stretch uncomfortably, and he wonders what’s underneath with a sick sense of curiosity. 

Luis has never been good with gore, always shouting in surprise and blocking his view of the screen with his hand when he watches horror flicks. Scott loves them though, the jump scares and ghosts and unnerving deaths. And he never puts up a fuss when Luis presses his face against his shoulder. Doesn’t say anything when Luis lingers, his face growing hot and his heart thundering in his chest. 

At least Scott hardly ever complains when Luis wants to watch a foreign film, even though he thinks they’re pretentious and hates having to read subtitles, so Luis figures they’re even. (Though in his case it’s more of a win-win. Half the time Scotty falls asleep on the couch before they’re even thirty minutes in, head pillowed in Luis’s lap and snoring softly into his stomach.) 

The doctor clicks her pen and he shifts his attention back to her. She looks whip smart, attractive in a no nonsense way. Stylish, her hijab and nails matching her green scrubs. The type of person he would’ve flirted with before he got wrapped up in an ‘I kissed Scott while dying’ crisis. 

“You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Garcia,” she says, flipping through her papers. “You were grazed with a bullet on your chest that didn’t hit any vital organs, and your bullet wound on your thigh didn’t hit your femoral arteries or femur bone. Though you did lose quite a lot of blood, and the tear in your leg muscle caused a hematoma that you almost bled out from. We were worried your wounds might become infected because of the unclean environment you were in. So far that’s not the case, but we’ll need to do a CT angiogram-” She began to drone on, and Luis doesn’t even try to follow any of the long medical terms and looks down at the sheets covering his leg. He’s content to let Dave handle it, who’s staring intensely at the doctor like he’s on the verge of taking notes. Luis waits until she pauses to cut in.

“Not to rush you or anything, but have any idea of when I can leave? My insurance, man, I don’t think I can stay for long.” He says self deprecatingly, but inside the enormity of what’s happened to him- and how it’s not just going to go away all nice and easy- is starting to overwhelm him. Hell, he’s not even sure if he’s caught up with all his payments this month. The thought of this hospital bill is enough to make his head spin, but that may be from the drugs they’re still pumping into him. Kurt mouths ‘it’s fine, took care of it’ from across the room and waves away his confused look. 

“Well, Mr. Garcia, we’ll need to keep you here for another day for observation and to run some tests to make sure nothing’s infected. After that you’ll be discharged and will have to make a follow up appointment with your local physician or go to Urgent Care. I’d also recommend that you visit a physical therapist, I can suggest several local-”

“Oh, no, ma’am, I got that covered.” He smiles up at her and says confidently, “I’ll just go to Achmed.” The doctor blinks at him and looks confused, so he continues happily.

“Yeah, Achmed! He’s a masseuse working at the Bella Nova Spa up north. We met at a Shakespeare festival- he played a mad skilled Laertes, forreal. I asked him after if he knew about the whole ‘Gertrude lying about how Ophelia died’ theory that was making its rounds again in the Shakespeare forum. Well he did, and we started arguing because _he_ thinks it’s hella suspicious how there’s so much fluff detail but no specific location, and _I’m_ like that’s just the difference between dramatic value and theatrical value, yo. And then it turns out that he had no ride because Ophelia drove him, but _she_ left earlier to have some fun with Juliet. Who knew Shakespearean pick up lines worked so well?” He pauses expectantly and looks at the doctor, who has a reluctantly intrigued expression on her face.

“And?” she asks. 

Luis shrugs. “Now he owes me a favor ‘cause I drove him home.” And went along with some Hamlet/Laertes roleplay once they got there, but he decides to leave that bit out. “Wanna hear the line?” 

The Doctor- Dr. Abdelnour, Luis finally realizes when she’s close enough for him to see her nametag _-why does the name sound familiar?-_ doesn’t stick around for long. Her pager goes off and she leaves with a quick wave. They wait until they hear her footsteps fade before Kurt stands up and closes the door. 

“So why aren’t we ditching this place?” Luis asks almost immediately. Check ups and exams sound good in theory, but he doesn’t think they’re worth the extra zeros that’re gonna be tacked onto the end of his bill because of them. Dave shifts forwards, resting his elbows against the side of the bed. 

“We got you covered, man. Kurt’s leeching money off of Taskmaster’s accounts. Scott was able to plug the USB into the system before you got shot.” 

He frowns and looks over at the hacker. “You don’t have to do that, Kurt.” _‘It only puts a target on your back’_ goes unsaid. Kurt hardly ever steals money from criminals, and when asked about it he gets a hunted look in his eyes and says it’s not worth the risk. 

Kurt’s jaw tightens as he shrugs, “No big deal. Bastard deserves it.” He leans over and lightly brushes his fingertips against Luis’s foot, in what he assumes is an attempt to mimic Dave’s comfortingly heavy shoulder pats. Gratefulness blooms in Luis’s chest and he grins at Kurt, who ducks back behind his computer once they make eye contact. 

“Thanks, Kurt. That bill would’ve wrecked me. Probably would have to cancel my Playstation Plus account,” he jokes, and Dave mock gasps. 

“We can’t have that! Next thing you know, you’ll be hawking your waffle iron on Ebay!” He says dramatically, holding his hand to his chest.

Luis laughs, long and hard (with just a tinge of hysteria, that the others thankfully ignore), enough that his wound starts throbbing and he forces himself to stop. He and Dave continue to build off the joke, growing more and more ridiculous as Kurt just watches, sighing exasperatedly at them.

“Not the van!” Dave howls, and even Kurt chuckles softly at that. Something inside him relaxes, warm and fond. 

_(Where’s Scotty? Where is he?)_

* * *

At some point, Kurt gives him back his cellphone. The flutter of relief he feels when it’s back, safe in his hands, spreads through him as he turns it on. The home screen wallpaper is him and Scotty, arms flung around each other’s shoulders and laughing while throwing peace signs. Scott’s in his Ant-man suit and he’s in his fake guard uniform, both of them smeared with soot and dirt. There’s a grand total of fifty-two texts he’ll need to read through and.... one new voicemail.

He stares at the contact name for a long time before clearing the notification.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS!! Sorry for the wait, began a new job that I'm still getting used to, but I was able to work on the fic this week. Chapter 3 should be out this weekend, not as long as this chapter though aha. One thing I have realized since starting this- it's gonna be a longer fic than I originally planned. Get ready for a wild ride!
> 
> beta'd by my friend Arin. thanks bro! 
> 
> And thank _you_ for leaving kudos/comments, they make my day! Also let me know if you have any questions  <3


	3. love, i have wounds only you can mend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope visits and Luis gets drunk. _Not_ in that order, though.

_There’s a grand total of fifty-two texts he’ll need to read through and.... one new voicemail._

_He stares at the contact name for a long time before clearing the notification._

* * *

Hope stops by to visit a few hours later, and even though she is super crazy fine and a complete badass, he can’t help panicking a little because oh fuck he kissed her boyfriend and Scott must’ve told her and she’s here to kick the crap outta him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s punched for flirting with someone else’s lover. And even though he packs a punch mean enough to knock out Peachy, San Quentin’s farewell fighter, right now it wouldn’t be a fair fight because he’s got two holes in him and gets dizzy if he moves his head too fast.

After the frazzled nurse flutters in and out to check on his out-of-control heart monitor, Hope stands there in silence, looking mad worried. ‘I’m not gonna try to steal your boyfriend’ almost escapes his lips, but instead, he bites down hard on the inside of his mouth. Because even with his totally chill and optimistic outlook on life, he can acknowledge that those words would _not_ go over well in this situation (especially since it would be a lie).

He breaks the (horrible, suffocating) silence by blurting out, “You gotta hook me up with your tailor, dawg, because _damn_ that suit’s cut is fine.” It’s true, she looks mighty professional; not a single crease out of place, cut the perfect length and no wrinkles. He’s about to dive into a story about his cousin’s wife’s brother’s tailor shop; the one he goes to and gets a 30% discount in because the owner’s grandma owes him a favor.

Before he can, she raises a dainty eyebrow and jokes, “I didn’t know you wore suits, Luis.” 

He remembers that she’s only seen him wear grey hoodies and ballcaps outside of missions and laughs, loose and easy, because that’s what you’re supposed to do- (Mexican ex-con, deported father with a revoked green card, his obvious accent and skin color and for a few seconds he feels- he _feels-_ )

Why doesn’t she put down Scott like that?  
( ~~Maybe because they’re just _so different_ in her eyes that she would never even _think_ of-~~ )

He stops himself from frowning and stares down at his hands. Nah, Hope is a superhero and Scott’s girl; that wouldn’t make any sense. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. (Is it? Or is he just more _delicate_ nowadays, something sharp and defensive rising up to the surface of his skin that should’ve been shoved back deep deep down-) He’s _fine._ She didn’t really mean anything by it. Besides, he knows Dave’s got his back by the subtle stiffening of his shoulders and that’s all that matters. 

Kurt is hunched over his laptop, probably completely oblivious to the world. Luis has the itch to make him waffles that he, obviously, can’t give into right now, so he settles for sliding his blue Jello towards Kurt, the only hospital food deemed ‘acceptable’ by the hacker. 

“Have you heard from Scott?” Hope asks, glancing over at Dave and Kurt before focusing on him. It feels intense, rather like being a bug pinned down to a display, which is kinda funny because, well, Wasp and all. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? ( _The cold tiles are getting more slippery and warm and oh God, it’s blood and Scott’s rambling above him and_ shut up Scotty, _he has something to say but no words are coming out of his mouth and shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?_ ) 

He pulls his phone out from where he tucked it under his pillow and checks his notifications, as if something might have changed in the past three minutes and Scott would’ve texted him like ‘psych I broke out of jail and maybe you want to go on a date with me?’ But he hasn’t, because Scott’s in deep trouble now and maybe they could get the old ant man dude in on the tentative escape plan they’re forming (it’s not like busting someone out of regular jail, because Scotty’s a _superhero,_ come on) since the guy seemed pretty paranoid about Tony Stark snatching up his tech last time.

“Nope, nothing yet. But I think he’d spend his one phone call in Super Prison on his lady, if you know what I mean. Have _you_ heard anything?” Luis doesn’t mention that he’s already started putting out feelers into his ‘vaguely associated with the higher up government and major security companies’ connections, and he’s waiting for a few friends to get back to him. Maybe later, when he’s more certain a lead isn’t a hit and miss. 

“Luis,” Hope starts in that dry sort of tone that sets him a bit on edge and feeling- well, not stupid, but maybe smaller and self conscious, “I’ve only known Scott for three months. You guys have been close for two and a half _years_ and you almost died in front of him. Of course he’s going to call you first.” 

Luis laughs nervously, fiddling with the seams of the bed sheet. “Right, right, right, of course,” he rushes, even though he’s not quite sure he believes it. Hope smiles at him and he grins reflexively back. 

“So,” she says sharply, and even Kurt jumps to attention, “What's the game plan, boys?” Dave and Kurt glance at each other before looking pointedly at Luis. He shrugs and makes a go ahead gesture. They’re lucky she’s even stopping to talk with them; he figured she would’ve gone her own way and flown to the prison herself by now. 

Dave leans forward. “Well, Kurt is trying to hack the prison-”

“They use Stark’s encrypted firewall,” Kurt interrupts, glaring at his computer, “Haven't been able to poke any holes into it- not yet. Talking to friends, see if anyone succeeds so far.” 

Dave laughs softly and turns back to Hope. “Yeah, apparently high profile hackers are notorious gossips. And have weekly poker nights where they hack into each other's accounts to cheat. Crazy, huh?” 

b=Kurt and Scotty are both regular players in the group. Last week’s- or maybe it was a week and a half ago by now- poker night happened to be on the same night they _finally_ tracked down Taskmaster’s new hideaway.

* * *

_“Scooottyyy,” Luis stumbles into his bedroom, on a grand adventure. A quest. A quest to find Scotty! The lights are off and his hand hits the wall a few times before he finally finds the switch. He sees Scott hunched over his laptop, sitting criss cross on the bed, and whoops in excitement._

_“Dave!” He hollers, “Dave, I found Scotty!” Luis moves towards the bed, but something’s wrong with his legs and he feels the air brush by before his face and chest are smacking into the mattress. He rubs his face into the blanket- it’s soft. It’s very soft. He must have landed… in his bed! Yes, he’s on his bed. Well, not all of him, he realizes as his knees ache fiercely._

_“Luis, come on man, you can’t sleep on the floor,” says a voice floating above him. Scotty!! He lifts his head up and grins dopily at Scott, who’s intensely staring at his laptop and typing._

_“Heyyyyy, Scottyyy!” He reaches his hand out to poke him, and frowns when his hand only meets empty air. Too far away? That’s not good. That’s horrible._

_He crawls onto the bed and pokes Scott’s cheek before settling in next to him, saying, “You gotta come party with us! We’re having fuuuuun!” He leans against Scott’s shoulder and stares at the computer._

_“I told you earlier- tonight’s online poker night, remember? And you said that you’ll just get drunk with Dave and that I can stay in your room.” Scott leans closer to the screen and Luis moves with him._

_“But- but!” He pauses and thinks, lighting up when he remembers, “Kurt took shots with us! And he said that since he did it, you have to too. Fair’s fair, Scotty.”_

_“I was wondering why he was losing so bad,” Scott mumbles, then he raises his voice, “Well, Kurt doesn’t have $500 riding on tonight, buddy.” Luis pouts but Scott keeps his eyes on the laptop, switching windows, and then his fingers are flying. Too fast for Luis to focus on in his drunken haze._

_“Frena, Scotty, frena.” He reaches out and covers Scott’s hand with his. Scott stiffens against him but Luis feels a sudden burst of curiosity, and threads his fingers between Scott’s._

_It’s nice. They should hold hands more often._

_Scott must not think so because he gently shakes him off. “Hacking-” Scott’s voice comes out strangled, and he clears his throat before continuing, “Remember the poker game? I’ll need to use my fingers for that, bud.”_

_Luis blinks and stares down at his empty hand. Something aches in his chest, but the room is spinning and Scott’s warmth against his side is enough to brush the feeling away._

_Until, all of a sudden, it isn’t, and the aching is back and stronger than before. Luis realizes, horrified, that he must have tipped over to the more weepy side of being drunk, because he already feels his eyes watering and emotions (rejection disappointment jealousy you ruined it) crashing down around him. He can already feel the agitation rising, the urge to spill out into a story to distract Scott- maybe the one with the possibly haunted diner, or the dog walker Luis met yesterday when he ran over to Fry's Electronics to buy new parts for Kurt._

_But Scotty would see right through him- he always did, when Luis’s voice is just the tiniest bit faster, the curl of his words betraying his franticness. No. The only way to cure this is to take another shot and get back into the partying mood. Eager to follow this plan, Luis tips over the side of the bed and manages to stand up, rubbing his forehead when the room lurches unpleasantly._

_“Luis?” Scott’s voice echoes behind him but he keeps moving forward, stumbling out of the room and down the hall. He lets out a relieved sigh when he hears the door swing shut. Sometimes the space between them feels smothered with things unsaid. It’s probably his fault. Definitely his fault... Though maybe it’s Scotty too? The thought catches him off guard and he stops in the middle of the hallway. Nah. That’s just wishful thinking. Scotty would tell him if something’s up. Right?_

_Luis frowns and brushes the thought away, not wanting to get into the very long list of why Scott wouldn’t return his feelings. Tonight is about celebration; he doesn’t want it to end with him crying into Dave’s shoulder again and Kurt looking particularly murderous._

_He enters the living room and Dave looks up from where he is drunkenly trying to make it through a round of Battlefield 4._

_“Bro! Got Scott to come along?” He asks, his fingers still jabbing at the controls. Luis watches Dave's player get killed on the screen before answering with a disappointed no. Kurt boos from where he’s lounging on the couch, his face flushed and typing with one hand. The other is wrapped around a bottle of vodka._

_Luis passes them both and makes his way to the kitchen counter, where the abandoned shot glasses and tequila are still out. He carefully pours a shot, ignoring the mess when half of it spills onto the counter, and downs it in one go. It burns harshly through his chest, and he ruefully wishes he remembered salt as he bites into a lemon wedge._

_The rush is quick, and happiness bubbles back up to the surface, smoothing away his worries and tenseness like they were never there. He lets out a laugh, slamming the shot glass back onto the counter. It’s a good night, Luis tells himself, a night of partying and fun! He quickly pours another shot and downs it, and damn Dave really got the good stuff this time around. He closes his eyes and puts his hands on the sticky counter, taking a deep breath before patting the tequila bottle affectionately. He starts whistling a jaunty tune as he walks- more like staggers, really- back into the living room._

_Dave tries to coax him into playing a round of video games, but Luis shakes his head, eager to get back to Scotty. He only trips twice on his way to his bedroom, and each time, he steadies himself against the hallway wall. The doorknob seems sipplier than usual, or maybe his hands keep missing the handle whenever he goes for it, but it feels like it takes forever before the door finally opens and he enters the room. His eyes are immediately drawn to Scott, who looks up and flashes him a warm smile._

_“Oh, you’re back,” Scott says, his voice strangely relieved. Luis nods, grinning, and throws himself down onto the bed._

_“Are we winning yet?” He watches Scott’s shoulders move as he shrugs._

_“Yes and no. I’m beating the others, but I’m still fighting with M and Ender.” From what his scattered thoughts could remember, that sounds like a tough fight- Kurt has been bitching about M’s winning streak for the past couple of weeks._

_“Kick their asses, Scotty,” he slurs into the blanket. He probably needs luck- a good luck hug! With that in mind, Luis finds the energy to sit up and drag himself over to where Scotty is. The buzz from his last shot is still there, but at this point sleep is outweighing the urge to dance. He collapses against Scott’s back, his arms wrapping around Scott’s chest. He feels Scott’s laugh vibrate through his back, and one of his arms gets patted by a hand before the typing resumes._

_He presses his face between Scott’s shoulder blades. It feels good- so good. He rubs his face harder and hums his way through a song he remembers him and Dave singing earlier that night. He stops when he realizes Scott is speaking._

_“-you’re so fucking stoned,” It sounds like Scotty is holding back laughter and he smiles. “I told you not to smoke and drink at the same time, you get really fucked up when you do that-”_

_“M not stoned,” he automatically mumbles into Scott’s back, and he finds himself rubbing his face against Scott again as he thinks. Did he get high? The night felt like a blur after the first two shots- SHOTS!_

_“Scotty, come take shots with us!! We’re celebraaaatiiiiing!” That’s a funny word. Celebraaatiiiing. He laughs and removes his hands from where they were pressed against Scott’s chest, throwing them up in the air with a cheer. Luis immediately falls over, his back hitting the mattress and he finds himself staring at the ceiling. He moves his head to the side and sees Scotty above him._

_“In a bit, Luis.” Scott says, and the screen from the computer lights up his face in a strange way. He stares, entranced as the lights blend from white to blue to yellow to green to blue and keeps going._

_The only sound in the room is the typing and clicks from the keypad. There must be a… rhythm to it. Or maybe it connects to the color that's illuminating Scotty's face. Two clicks means blue or maybe ten typing sounds means white. Luis tries counting the clicks, but quickly gives up. Scott would know. He’s the best at math and equations and all that smart stuff. He opens his mouth to ask and-_

_“I love you, man.” The words fall from Luis’s mouth as easy as anything. Oh. So he’s doing this now. Alright. He closes his eyes and continues, not missing a beat, “Like… not just in a friend way. More. So much more. But I’m scared you don’t like me back. Do you? It’s okay if you don’t, I get it, I mean-“ he lets out a watery laugh._

_“Luis?” Scott sounds hesitant and he rushes to continue, needing to get all his words out._

_“No, no, shhhhhhh let me finish. Lemme… fiiiinishh. We can just be friends if you want to. Cuz I know you have a super crazy fine girlfriend but. Maybe you like me too?” His voice sounds so hopeful and small and he waits. Maybe this is the right moment. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe._

_There’s only silence. Not even the click clicks of the keyboard, and Luis opens his eyes to see Scott looking down at him, a soft smile on his face and fondness in his eyes._

_“Buddy, you’re speaking in Spanish again.”_

_Oh. No wonder the words felt so smooth on his tongue._

_Scott’s hand moves off the keyboard in a blur and then suddenly there are fingers threaded through his hair. He almost flinches away, but then the fingers start moving and oh, that feels really nice. Luis hums and bring his knees up, but they bump against something warm- Scotty’s back, he realizes, and moves closer._

_“You must be really wasted, huh?” Scott whispers and he nods. Luis feels so warm, like he’s swallowed liquid gold and it spreads through his body as he melts into the mattress. His face is smushed against a soft blanket and Scotty’s jeans, and gentle fingers are slowly combing through his hair._

_It’s good. This is good. He feels himself drifting away, even though there’s something tugging at his brain, that he still has something to say, but it’s warm and dark and it’s easier to fall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait!! Chapter 3 ended up being waaay longer than I expected- so long that I actually ended up chopping it in half! The second part of chapter 3 (technically chapter 4) will be up very soon, since I only need to make some edits/buff it up a bit. I'm also glad because I know more about where the direction of this fic is going, and I'm pretty excited!
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading/commenting/giving kudos! <3 
> 
> And thank you very much to my amazing betas, Arin and Avuck (ao3 name) <333


	4. i will take this wish and bury it in the snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I did some fancy coding, when you get to the underlined parts hover over it and it'll show you the translated version in english. For mobile, I'm pretty sure you can click on it and it'll show you the translation. Please tell me if it's not showing up, then I'll just link it in the footnotes ^^" Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

_It’s good. This is good. He feels himself drifting away, even though there’s something tugging at his brain, that he still has something to say, but it’s warm and dark and it’s easier to fall._

* * *

Luis blinks away the memory and tries to focus back on Hope and the others. He feels more drained than before, like most of his energy has been slowly sapped away and he’s just catching up. Maybe losing over a liter of blood does that. The thought of blood has his face scrunching up, too easy to fade into the _before,_ with the phantom scent of cloying, slippery copper lingering in the back of his throat.

Luis rubs at his eyes, trying to clear his vision, but only succeeds at smearing the disjointed colors further. Kurt’s shirt blends into the white walls, the room lurching the way it usually does after a couple of shots. _They gotta chill with the freaking morphine or whatever they’re pumping here,_ Luis thinks bemusedly as he stares at his IV. Refusing to drift off, he tunes back in and vaguely realizes that they’ve moved on from the hacking, now talking about how to actually get to the prison.

“-might be able to get us a helicopter. Pym Industries _must_ have something in storage. It would be the fastest way,” Hope says, now sitting up straight in the seat near Dave. 

Dave jots it down- when did he get a notebook?- but he shakes his head as he does it. “It’s way too obvious, Hope. Plus, not all of us have wings or ways to shrink.” He gives her an unimpressed look and Luis fights back the urge to snicker. “The army could fire a missile at us and we’d all be fucked. We need something subtler. Something that can fly under the radar- no way a helicopter will do that.” 

“Supply ship?” Kurt’s voice chimes in, and Luis sees him nervously run his fingers through his hair before continuing, “If Hope sneaks on it might work.” 

Dave twirls his pen for a few seconds, contemplating, before shaking his head again. “I like what you’re thinking, but I doubt it’ll work, bro. The next supply ship isn’t being sent out for another week, for one thing, and you won’t be able to get close enough to guide Hope through security.” 

Kurt narrows his eyes and leans forward. “If I went _with_ Hope on boat-” 

“No, Kurt,” Dave sounds testy, like he’s just barely hanging on to his calm composure, agitation in his iron grip around the notebook and gritted teeth. “We’re not risking you getting left behind with no way off the island. Unless we have our own transportation, I’m not gonna allow-” 

“They are superheroes!” Kurt hisses, his voice growing sharper and more irritated. “I will not be left behind!” 

“Well, I’m not gonna risk it!” 

“You _have_ to, Lang-”

“I don’t care, Kurt!” Dave’s voice starts to get louder and louder, gesturing wildly as they volley back and forth, “He wouldn’t want you to go on some- some- hopeless _suicide mission-_ ” 

“That’s not what this is!” Kurt protests, but Dave has a stubborn look in his eyes. 

“Yes it is, and I’m too tired to deal with your self sacrificing bullshit right now!” And _there’s_ that telltale lip curl, usually only witnessed while Dave rage bakes for hours instead of lashing out. Luis suddenly realizes that he’s missing pieces, moments and conversations between them when he’s been out- it takes much more than one argument to make Dave snap. 

“If you haven’t noticed, _Kurt,_ ” and Luis winces at Dave’s bitingly sarcastic tone, “Luis is shot up, Scott’s in jail, who the hell even knows what Pym is up to-” 

“Actually,” Hope cuts in smoothly, “Hank is-”

“ _Shut up, Dyne!_ ” Kurt snarls, leaping onto his feet. Something crashes to the ground but he doesn’t react, glaring at both Hope and Dave. Hope raises a brow at him before looking back down at her phone. 

Dave stands too, crossing his arms and scowling as he continues, “-So that means I’m in charge! And no, I will not let you risk everything for something that can very well fail-” 

“It won’t fail!” 

“ _You don’t know that!_ ” 

Despite how tired Luis is, and how he’s definitely tripping balls cause of the pain meds, he knows it’s time to intervene. The fact that they’re so close to actually coming to blows is- is-

“Dave, Kurt,” he says, and their heads immediately snap over to him. “Stop fighting, guys. We can’t leave Scotty in there. But we’re also gonna need an airtight plan for this.” 

Luis stares at the others, feeling strangely calm despite his heart thundering in his ears and the urge to claw off his bandages that he has to push away. Kurt looks almost wild, unhinged, his hair sticking up and his hands clenched into fists, and Luis hesitates before continuing, “But Kurt I- I have to take Dave’s side. It’s too dangerous to go alone, and if-”

With a strangled scream of frustration, Kurt shoves his computer away from him and storms out of the room. 

“YOU’RE FUCKING IMPORTANT TO THIS TEAM, YOU _ASSHOLE!_ ” Dave shouts after him, hurling the notebook towards the door. Luis cranes his neck and sees Kurt flipping off Dave before disappearing around a corner. 

The door shuts with a loud bang, and then a smaller thump echoes it when Dave kicks the wall, muttering something under his breath. Luis finds himself staring at the jello strewn across the floor, not sure why he’s drawn to it. It must have been what had fallen a few minutes before. The jello glitters strangely, reflecting the harsh lights in the room. 

He sees movement out of the corner of his eyes and turns away from the scattered blue. Dave is sitting in his chair again, hanging his head in his hands. Luis studies the slumped curve of his friend’s back, wondering if the same tired weariness is once again on Dave’s face.

_“If you saw Atlas, the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood... his arms trembling but still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the greater his effort the heavier the world bore down on his shoulders – what would you tell him to do?,” his madre whispers, and then she looks up from the book. Text with Creator's Style turned off[ Click this if hover effect is disabled ]_

_He is young, nestled against his mother’s side on the bed, and he blinks up at her. Text with Creator's Style turned off[ Click this if hover effect is disabled ] he asks hesitantly, remembering what his teacher taught the class in kindergarten that day. _

_She laughs, low and fond, and whispers into his hair, Text with Creator's Style turned off[ Click this if hover effect is disabled ] _

_Text with Creator's Style turned off [ Click this if hover effect is disabled ] he asks, more confident than before with his madre’s approval behind him._

_Text with Creator's Style turned off [ Click this if hover effect is disabled ] she says, flashing him a secretive smile. He nods seriously, pretending like he understands, and from the curve of his mother’s lips and the twinkle in her eyes she must have seen right through him. She turns the page anyways, and the words slowly lull him to sleep. _

The squeal of an intercom pierces the air and he jolts, confusion muddling Luis’s thoughts until he realizes that he’s drifted off again. His eyes flit through the room before landing on Hope. She’s still typing away on her phone, an unaffected air about her, and he doesn’t understand how she stays so distant from everyone. He wonders if she would tell Atlas to shrug, but with smug superiority in her voice and disdain in her eyes. 

“Dave,” Hope says cooly, and the man bristles but doesn’t look up, “if I promise to personally ensure Kurt makes it out-” 

Dave’s head snaps up, his hands clenching into fists. “Your promises don’t mean _shit_ , Hope!” He jabs his finger at her and Hope actually looks taken back, her eyes wide, “So _fucking lay off already!_ ” 

Hope’s fingers twitch toward her pocket and an aggressive energy in the air swirls between them. Seconds pass. Luis feels something claw its way up his throat and opens his mouth to speak, desperate to break the standoff, but then Dave is wilting back into his chair and sighing. He’s a ghost once more, looking lost with defeat written in the lines of his face.

“Sorry, Hope,” Dave mutters. Hope only nods, going back to her phone, and Luis wonders if he imagined the flash of hurt in her eyes. Dave rubs his face with his palm, and his words are heavy and thick. “It’s been… a long week.” 

Luis’s guilt flares to life, _choking_ him, cold fingers pressing hard down on his neck and his breathing shudders-

( _‘His arms trembling but still trying to hold the world aloft.’  
Dave, his mind chants, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave-_ ) 

Dave glances at him, concern in his eyes, and the moment shatters. Luis schools his expression into a weak smile and shrugs. No point getting into it when Hope’s here. His friend just sighs and rubs his face again, pushing his beanie askew. 

“Should someone go after- ?” Luis starts, eyeing the door, then abruptly realizes that for once, he _can’t_ follow Kurt and ask him what’s wrong. Not while he’s chained to a hospital bed. 

Dave shakes his head. “No, he needs to blow off some steam. We’ve been-“ his eyes flick to Hope and he hesitates, “having some issues. I’ll tell you later, bro.” 

The only reason why he doesn’t press Dave for answers is because there must be something he doesn’t want to say in front of Hope. Later, then.

Hope begins talking about Pym Tech again, now about possibly flying in over the prison by using the corporate jet. Even though Luis understands her eagerness, he also can tell Dave is, once again, minutes away from snapping at her.

Luis rubs at the bandages on his leg, resisting the urge to prod at the wound. When does he get out? Not much longer, right? He’ll need to check up on a few leads, make phone calls, but either way it’s going to take a lot of work to pull something this big off. 

They’ve done the impossible before. 

( _but they were all together then, weren’t they?_)

Luis picks up his phone from the small end table next to the bed, taking a few seconds to stare at his background. Scott leaves, and with himself out of the picture to maintain damage control… it feels like the whole team’s falling apart. 

He flips through his messages, smiling at different texts and frowning at others. After a little digging, he finds that Dave’s put up a post on facebook and instagram that explains some of the more frantic texts. It’s not a silly picture that Scott normally orchestrates, like when Luis sprained his ankle and he got Dave and Kurt to go along with him. They posed around Luis sleeping in his hospital bed, squatting with their fingers pressed together, as if in prayer. 

No, it’s… well, it’s him. Luis hardly even recognizes his own face, pallid and slick with sweat. Dark circles under his eyes, face twisted into a grimace of pain even in sleep, he looked like someone with one foot already in the grave.

Luis makes an update post, thanking people for their well wishes and prayers. He starts to respond to texts and messages on autopilot, his mind racing in the background as he feels more and more awake. 

(He keeps ending up on his voicemail app, staring at the newest, unopened one. _It’s a distraction,_ he tells himself weakly, _and you can’t afford distractions right now._ )

(He also can’t bring himself to delete it.) 

They need a way in. Ocean- plane, helicopter, too conspicuous. Skydiving? No, Dave can’t. Boat? That… might work.

Who does he know who has a boat? A few people immediately come to mind; Amy with her sailboat, Raphael and his yacht, Ji Su- Ji Su. Yeah. She does deep sea fishing, right? Used to work for the Coast Guard…

And owes him a favor. 

“Actually, wait.” He says, interrupting the tense silence, and, “I’m… pretty sure I’ll be able to get us a boat.”

“Really?” Dave leans forward, a spark of interest in his eyes. Luis nods absentmindedly, his thumb hovering over his old friend’s number.

“Yeah.” A confident smile spreads across his face, and when he starts the call he winks at them, already feeling the energy in the room turn. 

( _This is what you do. This is who you are._ ) 

“I know a guy.”

* * *

“Hey, Luis- it’s… it’s Scott. I mean, you’d already know that, since it’s a voicemail from me and you know what my voice sounds like-” _Weak laughter. A pause._ “I have to go, buddy, I’m sorry. I don’t want to- God, I don’t want to- but the Avengers need me. Crazy stuff is going down, there’s some terrorist psycho assassins and they need me for some reason- I know! _Me,_ in the Avengers! To think that I was kicking Falcon’s ass only a couple months ago…” _A heavy sigh._ “I know you’d want me to go. That’s the only reason I’d ever…” _Silence._ “It shouldn’t- I don’t think it’ll be more than a day or two. Hell, I’ll probably be back before you even wake up… Still feel like shit, though.”

“But hey! I promise, I’ll demand to take Stark’s superjet or something as soon as the mission’s over. Maybe I can even ask to pull some strings, get you into a better room. Better treatment… I’ll make it up to you, bud.” _A long pause. The faint sound of cars rushing by is barely heard over Scott’s uneven breathing._ “I was… I was so fucking scared, Luis. There was so much blood, and you were so quiet, I thought you were going to… I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if you… You’re going to be okay. You have to be. And…” _A hesitant pause._ “About what happened right before you passed out… Well, the doctor’s said you might not even remember because of how much blood you lost. But if you did, I just wanted to let you know that-”

 _“Come on, Lang, we need to move. Either give me the phone or I’m breaking it before we leave.”_

“Just give me a goddamn second! ...Sorry, apparently they’re insisting on radio silence. I’ll call as soon as we’re done though, promise. But I just wanted to say that… Luis, I-”

_**Beep. Your voicemail reached maximum length. Press 1 to call again.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Really sorry about the wait, I'm actually on vacation right now and thought that I'd be able to get this out before I left- I was wrong, aha... But hey, it's here! Hopefully the fancy code works out. ( Here's where I got the tutorial, they're really great and answered all of my questions!) 
> 
> Anyways, I actually have a scott/luis tumblr blog now- scuis.tumblr.com, so you can talk to me on there if you want! Next chapter will be a Hope and Scott interlude, so we'll learn a bit about what's going on with them. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and kudos/comments! And a huge thank you to my two betas, avuck and Arin! <3


	5. don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hope/Scott interlude... in prose!  
> Takes place... a few weeks before the first chapter  
> What _has_ been going on between Scott and Hope?
> 
> Warning: this chapter has light nsfw, toxic relationships, and mental health deterioration/issues

Scott’s always needed a leash to be kept in line, from going out of control, and while Cassie keeps him on the ground he feels like he’s one bad stumble from floating away. He’s wry sentences and common sense and “no that’s crazy” until he gets into his workshop, until he’s arm deep in tech and it’s 3am and maybe he’s found the perfect way to fix the world’s problems. 

But then there’s Hope, justice blazing in her eyes and a cool morality to her that brings him in like a moth to a flame. She punches him in the face during training and his blood sings for more. Her hands cup his face and she stares into his eyes and he feels like he’s in the eye of a hurricane, safe point in the storm, seconds away from breaking but held together through her sheer will alone. 

She’s cool and collected but she has her sharp edges, and he throws himself down on them because _I deserve this, I deserve this._ He’s with her and she consumes him, and he’s drowning and doesn’t want to breach the surface, to take another breath. 

They fuck. They argue and fuck and grapple in bed and she kisses hard enough to draw blood. His head spins and his mouth is dripping with copper and it feels so _right._

Slowing down seems impossible, improbable, indescribable. He’s hurtling towards something too fast to stop but the air tastes like freedom, like possibilities, like equations and ideas and wires tangled around his wrists. And he doesn’t care, he can’t even think about the crash. 

They’re not the hand holding couple. They’re not the ‘cuddle on the couch while watching movies’ couple. He watches her leave from the bed, put on a pressed pantsuit like it’s armor at 6am; and she watches him mutter to himself in the early morning about the suit, about improvements and tech and _I can make this better, I can make this better._

Sometimes he wonders if they’re a couple at all. 

They take and they take and they _take,_ and Scott wants to fall down to his knees in front of her and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, for her to remake him into something _better,_ someone who handles emergencies without flinching, who doesn’t scream and throw tech at the wall because _it’s not working, it’s not working,_ who isn’t bursting at the seams with shame and worthlessness and _failure._

And sometimes, in his moments of self loathing, he wants to needle her until she breaks. To see what’s under her cold mask, to see a laugh instead of a shadow of a smile, to see if anything’s under there at all. He wonders if he resents her as much as he loves her, a dead mother but Daddy’s little rich girl, who’ll never know what it’s like to crawl her way up from _nothing._ She looks at Luis and Dave and Kurt and he wonders what she sees, wonders what someone who’s always been at the top makes of a group of ex cons. 

He never pushes, though. Never crosses that line. He wants her to be arguing enough to shout, to shove, but never hurt enough to cry.

He doesn’t want her to break because he’s the one that’s breaking, piece by piece, and she’s strong enough to _fix_ him, to put him back together after the crash finally comes. Because it _will_ come, it’s chasing his heels and he can run and run and run but no matter how fast he is, it’ll catch up, he’ll stumble and slip and the darkness will swallow him whole. 

He needs cold, merciless hands that’ll plunge into his flames and come out unscarred. He needs someone who will walk away from him standing tall, unharmed. He needs Hope and her endless strength, Hope pushing him away because she’s been soft in front of him before and doesn’t want to be ever again. He trusts her, to be a good person and be strong, to save him just as he crumbles himself.

.

* * *

.

Hope knows she doesn’t _love_ Scott. Sometimes she doesn’t even like him. He reminds her of when she was younger, desperately looking for a tether and finding _nothing._ But _she_ learned to make one for herself, when her mother was gone and her father was a blank faced mess, reminding him to eat and take his pills and she had to be strong for him but she was _scared._

She’s not scared anymore. She’s angry. And she’s channeled it into being the best, into becoming perfect, into a cool and calm demeanor that sits so firmly on her face she sometimes forgets that’s not all she is. 

And then everything implodes once Scott Lang comes, interrupts the status quo, and her focus on climbing her way up the corporate ladder breaks. Because Daddy’s got a new favorite, a new plan, a new scheme, and she sees her reflection in Darren Cross like a shattered mirror. Hank Pym’s two castaways, circling sharks in the water once someone new, shinier, _moldable_ comes around and takes away his attention. 

She gets caught up in ‘Daddy, see me,’ she seethes in jealousy when Hank chooses Scott, wants to scream _look at me, look at me._ She wants to take Hank’s little pet project and make him _hers,_ not her father’s little puppet dancing to his tune. She’s bitter and angry and something tight in her chest relaxes when Scott’s limp underneath her, looking up with adoring eyes. 

It’s never him fucking her, it’s her fucking him, pinning his wrists to the mattress as she rides him, trying to work out the anger and abandonment and “I hate you, I fucking hate you,” but she doesn’t know if she’s talking to Scott or Hank or herself or all three. She never lets Scott win, doesn’t let him get the upper hand, because she _needs_ to be in control, she needs to.

And he lets her, he needs it too; she bites Mine into his neck and he whimpers ‘please, please,’ she shoves him against the wall, tugs on his hair and he pants ‘thank you’ with worship on his tongue. He submits and she’s won, victorious, and refuses to think about what she’s done and why. 

They fuck. They argue and fuck and they grapple in bed and she kisses him hard enough to bruise, to bleed, and she wants to drag him out and throw him down in front of Hank and gloat “Look how far your favorite has fallen.” 

She feels bad for the feelings that have bubbled their way back to the surface, for the viciousness she keeps under control but can’t help to let loose while they’re in the bedroom, and she finds herself falling back into old habits. Reminding him to eat, bringing him coffee, kissing his forehead and cheering him up with witty words when he gets too trapped inside his head. 

And normally she wouldn’t mind that- that’s what friends do, right? Even though her friends are landmines, _can I trust them? Can I trust them?_ But all she sees is the ghost of her father, the familiar motions from years ago. Scott takes his coffee black and always teases her for putting 3 packets of sugar and a dash of cream in his, but her hands are on autopilot and that’s how Hank liked it. 

She cares about Scott, or tries too, because sometimes she thinks there’s too much anger and hate and bitterness inside of her for anything else, she’s too full. Sometimes she thinks that there’s something wrong with her, that Hank _really fucked her up,_ but she’s not broken, _she’s not,_ she’s strong and whole and she kicks ass in the office and superheroing. Maybe she’s not broken because she refuses to be. 

But she doesn’t care enough about Scott to fight for him, to want to keep him. Unless it’s from Hank, because that started everything in the first place, right? She sees Luis staring at Scott out of the corner of his eye and she wants to tell him to _go on, take him, I don’t care anymore, I’m a monster and one day he’ll choke on my claws._ Because Scott deserves love, deserves happiness, to not be trapped in an endless battle between her and her father. She’s not sure if she deserves love even though she clings to it, to Scott’s adoration and need and want. 

She thinks about what her mother would think of her and her stomach curls in shame. She wants to be perfect for Hank. But she wants to be better, to be _good,_ for her mother. 

She saves the world and leads the company with a stern but benevolent fist, she tries to be worthy of the pedestal Scott puts her on but doesn’t quite manage it, and she wonders when it will end. Happiness is a foreign emotion to her but she feels- content, at least, flying in the Wasp suit, victorious when fucking Scott, smart as hell while managing the company. 

Maybe for now, it will be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me before writing a Hope POV: man I'm pretty sure Hope is the only character who has her shit together  
> Me after: ....... oh Hope  
> So Hope's definitely getting her own character arc and I've already written the beginning of a Pepper/Hope scene?? im here for badass CEO girlfriends... 
> 
> im not sure how #canon this is, but in Hermes, Hope is now the CEO of Pym Industries.
> 
> YALL THIS FIC HAS OFFICIAL FANART NOW CHECK IT OUT!!!!  
> https://scuis.tumblr.com/post/163973446913/commissioned-art-by-ninthgoddess-of-a-scene-from
> 
> Also you can reblog the aesthetic I made for the fic here~  
> https://scuis.tumblr.com/post/163837263823/the-flight-of-hermes-by-magicalmagic-on-ao3
> 
> Again, I'm on tumblr at scuis.tumblr.com! Come over and send me an ask/message so I can ramble about the ridiculous amount of meta I have for this fic
> 
> Thank you, all of my readers! Big thanks to the kudos-ers and commenters, you make my day! <3 As always, a huge thank you to my betas, arin and Avuck! <333
> 
> Sorry for the long author's note, guys... it'll be back to the main story thread after this!! Next chap: Luis and co arrive at Guantan-hero Bay, Scott talks to his cellmates, and a Rubiks Cube is contemplated


End file.
